


Truce

by linndechir



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Breathplay, Hair-pulling, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Mages and Templars, Rough Oral Sex, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-29 19:36:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20087638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: Cullen and Hawke are surprised by a snowstorm on the coast and have to find shelter in a cave. Cullen is more than a little dismayed that he'll have to spend the night stuck with an apostate who has far too much fun riling him.





	Truce

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wednesday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesday/gifts).

“As if this day needed to get any worse,” Cullen said, more to himself and the world at large than to anyone in particular, especially since the only other person present was one of the reasons he was more than a little unhappy with the current situation. He was cold, his arm was bleeding profusely and only hurting more from the repetitive motions of trying to light a fire, and they hadn’t brought any bedrolls or supplies for a night spent in a cave. The plan had been to hunt down a group of smugglers who were apparently helping blood mages escape the Marches, and to be back home before nightfall. Said plan hadn’t factored in the sudden snowstorm, because it was far too early in the year for snow. 

“If you’d let me bring a few of my friends, we would have been done hours ago, but no, ‘I only want you to come, Champion, we need to handle this with discretion,’” Hawke said from the entrance of the cave. A shiver went down Cullen’s spine at the tell-tale tingle of magic as Hawke levitated a large boulder in front of the entrance, leaving enough space that the smoke of the fire wouldn’t suffocate them, but still providing some protection from the elements. Then he turned, considered Cullen’s rather sad attempts at making the damp wood catch fire, and snapped his fingers to light a bright flame. Cullen flinched back a little, angry at himself for not being able to hide his reaction. He wasn’t used to being around mages who were so … free with their magic, so relaxed about using it. He gritted his teeth.

“If you’d brought along your _friends_, the storm still would have trapped us here and I’d be stuck in a cave with several apostates now. One is quite enough.” Cullen sat down on the log by the make-shift fireplace – someone else must have used this cave not too long ago – and stretched out his tired legs. The thought of being stuck here until morning with Hawke was bad enough. At least Hawke could be reasonable, his recklessness in a fight aside. He was certainly preferable to that angry Darktown healer who didn’t know when to shut his mouth, or that little Dalish mage with the harmless face who made Cullen’s skin crawl. 

“It’s only fair that you should suffer, too, if I’m going to be stuck here with a Templar. My father did warn me about you lot,” Hawke said, and something about his tone made it clear that he wasn’t talking about the risk of getting dragged off to the next Circle where he belonged. He didn’t wink, but he didn’t have to. Cullen had spent his youth in barracks around other boys and their dirty jokes, and he’d still never met anyone who could make the most innocuous sentence sound as filthy as Hawke did. Cullen had never been able to figure out if Hawke was actually flirting or if he simply liked making people uncomfortable.

He watched him as Hawke walked – no, sauntered over to the fire. Hawke moved all wrong for a mage. He stood as tall as Cullen did, had strong legs that hadn’t seemed to tire the whole day despite the wind and the steep paths they’d climbed, was as broad and barrel-chested as any warrior. He moved like a man who didn’t need magic to win a fight. It was disconcerting. As if he wasn’t dangerous enough already.

“Let me look at that,” Hawke said as he sat down next to him. Cullen flinched away when Hawke reached for his injured arm, and berated himself quietly for being so jumpy. His nerves had been frayed all day. No, it’d be more accurate to say that his nerves had been frayed ever since he’d come to Kirkwall. The whole city slithered and writhed with something dark and evil, and every time he wondered if the place might have made him too paranoid, he found another demon or blood mage lurking in the shadows, proving all his fears to be true. It was hard to remind himself that Hawke was quite possibly the most trustworthy mage in Kirkwall. An odd feeling to have about an apostate, but Hawke was … Hawke was strong in a way few mages Cullen had met had been. He wasn’t a shivering vessel waiting for a demon’s filthy grasp. He was arrogant and obnoxious and disrespectful, but it was hard to imagine him possessed. Cullen wouldn’t have asked for his help in the first place if he’d thought he had to watch his back when it was just the two of them.

Hawke sighed and warmed his fingers over the fire he’d created. The magical flames crackled merrily over the damp branches as if they were the finest firewood.

“I’m not much of a healer, but I can at least stop the bleeding until we get back tomorrow.” There was something unusually gentle in his tone, and as if he’d realised that himself, he added, “I’m going to get into so much trouble if I bring back Meredith’s pet Knight-Captain half-dead from blood loss. And nobody’s going to care that you were a stubborn prick about it, no, it’ll obviously be the mage’s fault.”

“You can’t even imagine the kind of ‘trouble’ any other mage would get in for your behaviour,” Cullen said, but he stayed where he was. The look Hawke gave him in reply was as icy as the air outside the cave had been. It was rare to see him serious. Cullen wasn’t in a hurry to repeat the experience.

“Oh, I can imagine it better than you think. Now are you done complaining?” 

Hawke didn’t wait for an answer before he went for the clasps on Cullen’s armour – with an odd certainty, as if he was far more familiar with a Templar’s armour than he ought to be. The cold look had gone from his face, but by now Cullen knew him well enough to know Hawke could be petty. That he enjoyed how much Cullen tensed when Hawke quite literally stripped him off his protection.

“Is that necessary?” Cullen asked as the cuirass came off and Hawke started on his chain mail.

“Told you I’m not a healer.” Hawke’s voice sounded as dry again as ever, as if they were having a friendly conversation in the courtyard of the Gallows. “Unless you want me to risk fusing your armour and your skin together … I know, I know, embarrassing, but it’s happened before and Aveline will never let me hear the end of it, so this is really in your best interest. And look at me not even pointing out that this would be so much easier if Anders were here. Then again he might fuse your armour into your skin on purpose.”

“You did just point it out,” Cullen argued, more to distract himself from how vulnerable he felt than because he wanted to argue with him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so bared in front of anyone but a fellow Templar at the barracks, and even then Cullen preferred to dress and undress when he was alone. Even non-mages could be controlled by demons, after all, he’d seen it in Kinloch Hold. He took a deep breath, made himself look up at Hawke’s face – tanned and lined from the sun, from a life spent outside rather than in the safety of a Circle. His black hair was damp from the snow and stuck up in all directions, his beard was unkempt and still somehow looked good. Cullen averted his gaze and stared at the fire instead.

Hawke’s fingers were rough when they pushed up the sleeve of Cullen’s shirt to bare his skin. A farmer’s hands, even years after he’d come to Kirkwall and moved into that fancy Hightown estate. In an odd way it reminded Cullen of home, of the people he’d grown up around. And wasn’t that a strange thought, that his childhood and Hawke’s hadn’t been all that different, that they’d started out in such similar places only to end up like this – Templar and apostate, for some reason not at each other’s throat.

“All right,” Hawke mumbled to himself, his brow furrowed in concentration. He looked like it took more out of him to close the cut on Cullen’s arms than it had to throw half a dozen bandits to the ground and roast them with a fireball earlier, but the pain lessened, and the bleeding stopped, and Cullen felt that unpleasant, familiar tingle of flesh knitting itself together. He didn’t like magical healing – didn’t like any mage casting a spell on him – but he couldn’t deny that the result beat out potions on any day.

“There. I’m afraid you’ll end up with a scar, but I’ve been told those are very dashing. You already have that tortured, brooding look going on, a few scars will go well with that.” Hawke grinned, like he was far too pleased with himself. “Otherwise you’re just too _pretty_.”

Cullen was still bristling and trying to think of a retort when Hawke reached out and patted his cheek – casually, condescendingly, and that was more than Cullen’s nerves could handle in that moment. After the long day, the cold, the injury, the fact that he was stuck here until morning with an apostate powerful enough that Cullen wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to take him if it ever came to a fight – it was too much.

He snatched Hawke’s wrist and twisted it aside, grabbed his collar with his uninjured hand so he could yank him up to his feet when he stood. Hawke was heavy and solid against him, but surprised enough that he didn’t resist when Cullen slammed him back into the nearest rock wall.

“Do you ever stop talking?” Cullen snapped. His voice didn’t sound like his own, too hard, too angry, like something was twisting and pulling at him, something ugly and helplessly furious. It wasn’t right that Hawke was so relaxed, as if all this was just a game to him. Some kind of joke only he was in on, that made him laugh at the rest of the world. As if he didn’t understand, or just didn’t care, that his whole existence was wrong, that the way he swaggered through Kirkwall as if he owned it put everything Cullen believed in in jeopardy. Maybe Hawke himself was not a danger to people around him, but so many other mages were, and how many of them would get _ideas_ if Hawke kept on doing whatever he wanted and got away with it?

Hawke wasn’t struggling, but he was tense, watching Cullen with those sly brown eyes that despite his incessant joking rarely showed any real amusement.

“You even think about casting a spell right now, I’ll smite you hard enough that I’ll have to carry you back to Kirkwall,” Cullen growled. His hand had moved to Hawke’s throat, fingers curled tightly around it, that strong, steady pulse hammering under his thumb. There was nothing weak about Hawke. Even now, there was nothing frightened about him.

“My, you almost make it sound romantic, Ser Cullen,” Hawke said. Despite his attempt at levity his voice was choked, and Cullen’s breath caught as if in reply. He hoped that Hawke wouldn’t notice his reaction, but only for a moment before Hawke’s lips quirked up.

“If you had any sense, you’d be terrified right now,” Cullen said. Maybe it would save them both if he could scare Hawke – not that he’d want him any less, but then he’d … he wouldn’t do it if Hawke was afraid, wouldn’t do anything, just like he had never done anything with any other mage. He hadn’t even touched the ones who looked like they wanted him (like they wanted him to _believe_ they wanted him, like desire demons crawling through their minds, trying to lure him in and make him let down his guard).

“Not my usual reaction to a handsome man slamming me into things,” Hawke said. He was still tense, but he sounded almost smug – as if he’d wanted this, as if he’d planned for this with his countless innuendos and winks and nudges Cullen had tried so hard to dismiss as Hawke being Hawke, behaving that way around just about everyone because it amused him. But the look in his eyes was full of intent now, and his body was maddeningly hot against Cullen’s, and then he reached for him again, for his shoulder this time, squeezing and pulling Cullen closer. “Although I’d like it even better if you were slamming something into me …”

“Shut your mouth,” Cullen interrupted him a moment too late to keep that image out of his head. He grabbed Hawke’s chin, shoved a thumb between his teeth to keep his mouth open. He’d taken off his gauntlets earlier, but even so the sight made his mouth water – he felt Hawke’s jaw muscles twitch under his fingertips, felt his throat move as he swallowed, felt him tense and gasp when Cullen pushed against his throat. He could have choked him out like that, could have tied him up, could have done his best to render him harmless until morning. The way every other mage he’d ever known was. But Hawke still held him close rather than pushing him away, and the look in his eyes was still downright inviting. It was dizzying, and Cullen didn’t want it to stop. The moment he released his grip on Hawke’s throat, Hawke sucked his thumb deeper into his mouth, licked over the pad and sucked on it so hard Cullen’s knees felt weak for a moment. For a few moments all he could do was watch him, the filthy slide of his thumb in and out of Hawke’s mouth, and then how red his lips were when Cullen pulled his finger out and rubbed it over them.

“Maker’s breath, they should lock you up for that alone,” Cullen mumbled, barely even meaning to say it out loud. Hawke laughed, the sound rougher than usual from his abused throat.

“So I could distract you from your duties every day? That doesn’t sound like a very well thought out plan, Knight-Captain.” He kissed Cullen’s thumb, made a sound that was almost reminiscent of a purr when Cullen gave his throat another light squeeze. “In my experience, ah, it’s so hard to get this kind of thing off your mind unless you indulge first.”

“I told you to shut your mouth,” Cullen said again, but there was little strength left in his voice. Hawke had his thigh pressed against Cullen’s crotch, and it was all Cullen could do to keep himself from rubbing against it like a dog. It had been exhausting to try and keep his mind from imagining this – from thinking about Hawke’s lips and the scratch of his beard and those strong hands – and now he felt himself wavering, too weak and tired to remember all the reasons why he shouldn’t. No Templar had any business touching a mage like this, no matter how much he wanted to. No Templar in his right mind would touch an apostate like this. He brushed his thumb over Hawke’s mouth again, because that at least shut him up for a few moments. Everything about this was wrong, but then everything about Hawke was wrong. If he was nothing like any other mage Cullen knew, then maybe Cullen could have him in ways he’d otherwise never allow himself.

“Not a word,” he said again, as if that quirk of Hawke’s eyebrow wasn’t as eloquent as anything he could have said. But he inclined his head in a mock imitation of deference, and he stayed quiet when Cullen ran his fingers through that thick, unruly hair he’d wanted to grab for longer than he could even admit to himself. He pulled on it, tentatively at first, then more firmly when Hawke’s breath caught. There was no resistance when he shoved Hawke down, only a muffled groan of protest when his knees hit the cold stone, but even that didn’t stop him from rubbing his cheek against Cullen’s crotch. It was like a dream, like something out of this world – the cold cave, the too loud crackle of the little fire, the eerie shadows it cast over the walls. But Hawke looked the same as always, even on his knees, like this was the most normal thing in the world. Maybe it was for him. Cullen on the other hand – he’d never … he’d never had a man on his knees like this, or really in any other way. He’d barely even had anyone touch him at all. He’d been too shy and easily flustered as a boy, too caught up in his own doubts and fears as a man. He was only grateful that Hawke couldn’t possibly know that, or he’d never let him live it down.

There was no shame or hesitation in Hawke’s eyes when he opened Cullen’s breeches, like he’d done this a million times before, and suddenly Cullen wondered if he’d done it with a Templar, too. If he’d done it with men Cullen knew, men Cullen spoke to every day, and the thought only made him grip Hawke’s hair tighter. He wasn’t going to let himself be teased, wasn’t going to give Hawke a chance to look at him and see any of the thoughts going through Cullen’s head in his eyes. His own touch on the base of his cock already made Cullen shudder when he pulled it free, and he only let go of Hawke’s hair for long enough to shove his thumb into his mouth again, forcing his jaw open so he could push inside.

It was – Maker, it was more maddening than he could have imagined, the heat of Hawke’s mouth nothing like the touch of Cullen’s own hand, the soft pressure of his tongue against the underside, and that was before he even started sucking on it the way he had on his finger earlier. Both Cullen’s hands went for Hawke’s hair this time, grabbing fistfuls of it to keep him right where he was. He knew he should have taken it slower – just because he’d never _done_ this didn’t mean he hadn’t heard all about what men got up to with other men, or with women – but he couldn’t have made himself hold back if he’d wanted to. 

And the truth was, he didn’t want to. Didn’t want to take it easy on Hawke’s relaxed arrogance, on that infallible confidence, not the one time he got a chance to put him in his place. He thrust hard enough into Hawke’s mouth that his moans turned into a choked, desperate sound, his throat tightening around Cullen’s cock, and when he looked up at him, his eyes were glassy with tears. But still so greedy, so hungry, his hands rough and firm on Cullen’s hips as if he thought Cullen needed encouragement to keep going. Cullen pulled half out of his mouth, gave Hawke a split second to breathe before he slammed back into that dizzying heat. Somewhere in the back of his mind Cullen knew he was choking him harder now than he had with his hands, and that his grip on Hawke’s hair had to be hurting him. He knew that those realisations would have made a better man stop or at least slow down, instead of making his cock swell more. Even here, far away from anyone who could have seen and judged him, he tried to stay quiet, but it was an uphill battle when Hawke moaned around him like this was everything he’d hoped for when he’d started prodding Cullen.

Cullen bit his lip almost bloody when he spilt down Hawke’s throat, heard him sputter and still kept holding on to his hair, keeping him in place until Hawke had swallowed every last drop of it before he let him go. He braced himself against the hard wall to keep his balance, looked down at Hawke’s flushed face, his wet lips parted while he was wheezing. Hawke had a hand on his crotch, fondling himself through his leathers. It hadn’t occurred to Cullen before that doing this would have made Hawke hard, and it desperately made him wish he could go again right away, that he could come down Hawke’s throat while Hawke brought himself to completion.

Hawke’s voice sounded like gravel even once he had enough breath in his lungs again to speak. 

“Look at that, didn’t know you had it in you, Knight-Captain. It’s always the nice ones …” He reached for Cullen’s forearm, found no resistance when he dragged him down onto the ground with him. It was cold, and uncomfortable, but Cullen didn’t complain. He still felt half in a dream, his mind fuzzy with satisfaction and a looming horror at what he’d done, and let Hawke guide his hand to his breeches.

“At least give me a hand. Because I have a feeling you’re not going to let me fuck you, even though I’ve yet to meet a single Templar who didn’t have a –“

This time Cullen kissed him to shut him up. He didn’t think about it, only leant in because Hawke’s glistening lips were right there, soft in all the ways his coarse beard wasn’t. After a moment Hawke kissed him back while his hand urged Cullen’s along. That at least Cullen had done before, fumbling with another recruit in the barracks what seened like a lifetime ago, but it had felt nothing like this. Tasting himself in Hawke’s mouth, feeling that thick, big cock in his hand in a way that was both similar to his own and utterly strange, feeling the way that strong body twitched and moved against his, the kiss interrupted by Hawke’s hoarse moans. One of Hawke’s hands was in Cullen’s hair now, pulling just as hard as Cullen had before, hard enough that Cullen almost worried he’d rip a fistful of it out. But then Hawke came with a shudder and relaxed against him, hot come spurting over Cullen’s fingers while he moaned against his lips. Cullen didn’t even think before he raised his soiled hand to Hawke’s lips, shoving his fingers into his mouth to let Hawke clean up his own mess, which he did, the look in his eyes as heated as the fire burning next to them. 

The fire Hawke had lit, and Cullen hadn’t even thought about that since – since Hawke’s lips had first wrapped around his cock. He’d downright forgotten it was a mage he was doing this with, a mage whose body seemed like the only warm thing left besides the fire, a mage who now sucked on his fingers so thoroughly until every last bit of come was swallowed. And then they still sat there, uncomfortably leaning into each other, Hawke still on his knees and Cullen with one arm around him. He shouldn’t have done this, he knew that, but he didn’t feel quite as bad as he should have either. Judging by the look on Hawke’s face, he didn’t feel bad at all.

“What now?” Cullen asked after a while. He still had a hand in Hawke’s hair and didn’t quite know what to do with it, so he settled for rubbing the back of his neck. Hawke let out a content sigh.

“Now I’m going to close my eyes for a little bit. You can keep guard, since you already announced several times that you can’t sleep with a mage in the room. Cave.” Hawke shifted to sit down and lean his back against the wall, not that he looked much more comfortable than he’d been a minute before. “But since I doubt I’ll get much rest either … feel free to wake me any time you want to go again.”

Cullen didn’t know why that still shocked him after what they’d just done, but somehow it did. One time felt like an accident, a misjudgement, an excusable loss of control. Doing it again would be _deliberate_. His eyes roamed over Hawke’s body, or at least what he could see of it now that Hawke was wrapping his cloak around himself to ward off the cold. A drop of come was clinging to his beard, right at the corner of his mouth. Cullen bit his lip to keep himself from licking it off.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” Hawke said and yawned. “It’s hardly the worst way to keep ourselves busy and warm until morning, right?”

And Cullen found it hard to argue with that, despite Hawke being an apostate – if Cullen had truly distrusted him as much as he should, he wouldn’t have asked for his help in the first place. And whatever Hawke’s personal feelings on the Order were – he wasn’t as loud about them as his healer friend, but hardly made a secret of them either –, he wasn’t stupid enough to risk anything happening to Cullen when everyone knew they were out together. It was, Cullen thought, as close to a truce as a Templar and an apostate could come.

He sat down next to Hawke, shoulder against shoulder to share a bit of warmth through their cloaks, and stretched out his legs. He hadn’t exaggerated when he’d said that he wouldn’t be closing an eye – Cullen slept badly even in his own bed and the safety of the Templar barracks – but Hawke’s touch didn’t make him flinch anymore when Hawke leant against him. 

The night was still long, the storm was still raging outside, and maybe Cullen would wake him later.


End file.
